Not That Girl
by Farawayland
Summary: "Take me home," she whispered, her eyes begging him for something, and when her lips fiercely met his own, seeming to claim his very soul, he knew she wasn't talking about a place. - Following "There's No Place Like Home", but continues as if the urn did not travel back to Storybrooke, and there is a lull in the baddies trying to destroy everyone's happy endings.


It was a simple thing, just a gentle touch on his wrist, that opened Emma's eyes to something that she had, perhaps, on a subconscious level already realized. David and Mary Margaret were disappointed with her. The signs had been there from the beginning, she could see them so plainly now that she was looking back, but it was the family dinner at Granny's that had made things clear to her.

Things had changed, for Emma, after she and Hook traveled back through time to The Enchanted Forest. The unexpected adventure had drastically shifted her expectations for the future, allowing her to see that Storybrooke was her home, because it was the place where her heart was kept—her family. It had also opened her heart to other possibilities, possibilities she had been eager and uninhibited in exploring since their return.

So when her mother called to let her know they were all meeting at Granny's for dinner, it hadn't occurred to her to do anything other than show up with the person she had been spending her evening with. After all, they had intended on a eating at some point anyways. It would, unfortunately, shorten other activities they had planned, but they could always make up for that later. The company, Emma thought, would be a nice diversion.

The scene when she and Hook entered the diner was something that tugged at her heart. Every year, when she was a child, she had wished for the same thing on her birthday—a family. To have one now, and really _know_ that they would never give her up, it was wonderful. It was understandable, as caught up as she was with emotion, that she didn't notice the slight fall to Mary Margaret's face when they came in, or the almost imperceptible tightening of David's lips. Placing a light kiss on the Henry's forehead as he smiled up at her, she took the empty chair alongside him, and felt the familiar heat of Killian beside her as he took the next, the comforting weight of his hook resting easily on her leg beneath the table. She had smiled then. The two tables pushed together were crowded, Regina, Robin and Roland being a natural extension of their growing family, but everything felt perfect to Emma in that moment.

It was why the instant it happened was so jarring. They'd gone through the tedious chore of ordering food, Roland never able to decide what he wanted, and the conversation was light and easy. Laughing at a quiet comment Henry had made, she turned to share it with Killian, knowing he would enjoy the quick-witted remark. Henry had been spending quite a bit of time around him lately, and clearly the pirate's verbosity had worn off. She leaned into him, the action intimate and comforting, her arm crossing his body to gently squeeze his hand as she whispered in his ear. It was a small gesture of affection and happiness, and if she hadn't happened to look across the table immediately, she wouldn't have seen it— but she had, and she did.

Mary Margaret's quickly stifled sigh, and the slight flare of David's nostrils. In that moment, Emma didn't need to ask them if they disapproved, to test their words and weigh them as truth or lie—she read it on their faces as easily as if they had written her a letter.

"I don't feel well," Emma cut in, interrupting the light flow of conversation as she stood abruptly, the legs of her chair stuttering against the floor as she pushed it back. "Sorry, Henry, but I've got to go, I'll see you tomorrow."

She squeezed his shoulder once as reassurance, a tight smile on her face, and turned toward the door.

When Killian rose it was with a bit more grace and charm, bowing his head slightly and making his exit. "Please, enjoy your repast without us. I'll just make sure she gets in safely then."

Emma didn't go far, simply taking the steps she needed to get away from the glow of the diners lights before waiting for Killian to join her. There was no doubt in her mind that he would follow as soon as she had left.

She felt immediate relief when his arms wrapped around her, enveloping her with the familiar scent of leather and salt—the mark of the sea far too deeply ingrained in everything he wore to ever fade. The heat from her breath clung to his jacket as she pressed her face deeply into his shoulder, relishing the closeness of him.

"Talk to me, love."

She didn't want to talk.

She didn't want to do anything other than wrap herself in his body, finding peace in the friction between them that always brought her to completion so perfectly. She wanted to feel the slide of his fingers, rough and calloused over her most sensitive places, the hard chill of his hook at her back. She thought that if she didn't fill the wound in her heart with him, she might go mad.

"Take me home," she whispered, her eyes begging him for something, and when her lips fiercely met his own, seeming to claim his very soul, he knew she wasn't talking about a place.

* * *

As Emma lay in his arms that night, listening to the slow creaks and moans of the old bed and breakfast, her mind traveled back through all of the days and weeks since their return from the Enchanted Forest. She catalogued her parents' reactions from that first moment until now. There had been relief etched on their faces as Emma recounted their adventure, and gratefulness when they thanked Hook for following her and aiding in setting everything right. They had been friendly, for once acting as if he belonged in Storybrooke, that he was more than an outsider watching through the window. Apparently, those feelings changed when they realized that they weren't the sole reason she stayed instead of running back to New York. All that time, while her relationship with Hook grew, she hadn't noticed their disappointment in the fact that it flourished, rather than faded. Gratefulness became displeasure, and warmth, disgust—because those had been the emotions she read on her parents faces in the diner, and it had shattered her.

She burrowed closer to Killian as he held her, his face serene and relaxed in sleep. She was thankful for that, knowing that some nights his old demons haunted him more strongly than others. It warmed her heart to know that those nights were becoming farther and fewer between. She didn't want to leave him when the sun came up, would miss the strength of his arms around her, the confidence that came with him at her side, but she knew she had to talk to her parents. She had her understanding of the situation, and now she needed to hear theirs.

* * *

David's face moved quickly between the easy, morning smile to surprise when he opened the door, and then more slowly to resolve. For a minute, Emma couldn't place the surprise, and then she realized it was because she had knocked. The realization left a small ache in her chest, the significance not lost on either of them.

"Who is it, David?"

She heard Mary Margaret's voice chime from the other side of the door, her light footfalls approaching.

"It's Emma," he muttered, opening the door and waving her inside, his movements slightly stilted.

Mary Margaret was smiling when she came into view, but Emma could see the anxiety flickering in her eyes as she stepped through the doorway, facing both of them with more than a hint of discomfort in her stance.

"Is Henry home?"

"No, he went to Granny's for hot chocolate," her mother said. "Did you want to—"

"No." Emma cut her off, and Mary Margaret paused in the motion she was making toward the door, her hand dropping to her side. "I need to talk with the both of you, about last night."

"Emma, if this is about Hook—"

"It's not, well, not directly at least. It's about me."

Emma looked at them uncomfortably, suddenly unsure of how to begin now that she was actually in front of them, David with his questioning eyes, and Mary Margaret with her hands clasped primly behind her back. She was supposed to be able to do this. She had broken a curse, gone up against Cora, and fought to bring down Zelena. A pang of longing to have him beside her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder for support hit, but the thought of him, the brief flash of him in her mind, spurred her on. He was worth fighting for.

"I saw the looks on your faces last night," she began, the hurt obvious in her voice, no matter how she tried to disguise it. "When I touched his hand. You couldn't even bear to see it."

"Emma, you have to understand. We appreciate everything Hook did to help get you back home. We see that, please don't think we don't."

Mary Margaret's voice was pleading, her eyebrows knit together with concern.

"You obviously don't think, despite all of that, that he's worthy of your respect, your trust…of me."

"We do respect him, Emma, we really do," David intervened, "but you have to understand, we never wanted someone like him for you."

"Someone like him?" Her voice crept up in volume, ringing with disbelief.

"You deserve better."

"Better than someone who has come to my rescue, time and time again, who gave up his home for a chance— no, less than a chance, that he might be able to save me, and all of you? Someone better than that?"

"You're forgetting all of the other things he's done, Emma—his past. We wanted something different for you, someone like your father. Not a—"

"Not a pirate." David cut in, the word sounding twisted on his lips.

"How dare you!" There was a venomous edge to her voice now, low and quiet. "How dare you think you have any right to an opinion on this. Are you kidding me? You dropped me in a wardrobe—and I _get_ it, I understand that you had to, and that it broke your hearts, but you have to understand something."

She paused, hands reaching out to the space between them, trying to get through to them. "All of those hopes and dreams you had for me, the things you envisioned shaping me into the woman you wanted me to be, they didn't _go_ through the wardrobe. It was just me, an empty book. These hopes you're laying on me now, they're for a person who doesn't exist. They're for the daughter you wanted, not the daughter you've got."

"But the daughter you've got," she continued, "she's pretty damn happy as she is. I didn't grow up in a fairy tale. I grew up right here, in the real world. I was abandoned, betrayed, disappointed, and left behind my entire life. I've got more bruises, and scars, and flaws than anyone I know, but because of Killian, I've learned to love them, because all of them together put me right where I am today. You might not like the rough, gritty parts of him, the past, the—the hook, god dammit, but I do. I love every part of him, and I will not sit here and let you treat this like I'm settling, because he is everything I need, and everything I want."

She was breathless now, her hands shaking at her sides as she stared at the two wide-eyed people in front of her. She had thought there would be a lightening of the weight on her chest once she put everything she felt out in the open, but instead she was faced with a lingering tightness, suddenly aware that they may have considered all of those things, and still disapproved.

"Emma," Mary Margaret began, locking eyes with David before reaching forward and taking her daughter's hands in her own. "You were born in the Enchanted Forest—a princess. If you have one True Love, then surely it's not someone—"

Emma didn't give her a chance to finish her thoughts, tearing her hands away, throwing the door open, and without a second glance backwards, walking out. The resounding crash of the door slamming somehow trickled through the cloud of anger, and she paused, pressing her forehead and hands against the cool wall.

"Alright there, love?"

A wave of heat traveled upward from her toes, and suddenly her legs felt weaker than they ever had in her life, the wall offering precious little support. Thankfully, his arms were there to catch her. They sat like that for a moment in the hallway, him kneeling, leather jacket splayed across the floor, arms circling around her as she tucked her head into his chest and pulled her knees up as close as she could to her heart. It ached, but as he whispered in her ear, soothing noises meant to calm, the timbre of his voice brought her peace.

"What are you doing here," she whispered, very glad that her parents had decided against following her out into the hallway. She was sure if she saw them again now, after the things they had just said, she would never be able to look at them again. It was better to give herself some time, and them as well.

"Well, I awoke this morning to find you missing, and I thought you may have been craving some of that infernally sweet concoction you enjoy, so I went down to Granny's."

"It's called hot chocolate. You ran into Henry?"

"Aye, the lad wanted to show me something in one of his books."

Emma sat up immediately, her eyes searching the stairwell below, her chest tightening painfully at the thought he may have overheard her argument with her parents.

"Really, darling. Do you think me so simple-minded that I would let the lad anywhere near the building the moment I realized what was going on?"

His tone was light and teasing, with no heaviness of true accusation in it.

"How did you know?"

"I'm a pirate, love, with a keen sense for danger, a word which, it would be fair to say, adequately described your temperament a moment ago."

"Where is he?"

"He's back in our room, looking for the sextant. I told him it would be quite the useful tool to have on hand when we examined his astrology book."

"That's good," she murmured. "I wouldn't have wanted him to hear me so angry."

"Aye, angry is what you were. How do you feel now, Swan?"

"Bloody spectacular."

She felt the absence of Killian's arm around as he reached upwards, and heard leather moving roughly against his stubble. Her eyes were closed, but she knew he was scratching behind his ear, a nervous habit she found endearing.

"Well, in that case, love, what say you to a change of scenery, a leisurely stroll, perhaps?"

"You're legs are numb, aren't they?"

"Quite."

* * *

Days had passed since Emma confronted her parents, and still she hadn't asked him the question he had been dreading. He had expected it right away, and she had surprised him by not being the least bit concerned at what he may have overheard. His Emma Swan, still managing to surprise him. Perhaps, now that they had grown closer than he had ever hoped for, she had no words left to hide from him. They spent those days enjoying the company of one another, and the continued absence of any threats to Storybrooke. Walks with Henry to the dock were frequent, the lad had developed a true curiosity about everything to do with the ocean, and she gripped his hand tightly whenever she saw his gaze pass by the spot where the Jolly Roger once anchored so long ago. She asked if he regretted it, and he was able to look her in the eye with a true heart and tell her ' _never, not for a second'._ Hours spent twisted among his sheets were also frequent, his fingers never tiring of their play across her body, but his Swan, she was a perceptive one, and she felt the subtle change to his demeanor.

When it had lingered for more than a couple days, the slight shift that caused his breath to hitch in his throat as he watched her fall asleep, thinking she was too far gone notice, she asked the question.

"Killian, what's wrong?"

He thought about sweeping her into his arms then, fingers threading through her hair as he smiled, disarming her with some witty banter about how the only thing that was wrong, was the state of her dress, namely, that there was far too much of it, but the smile wouldn't quite come to his lips, and he had no desire in his heart to lie to her.

"What your mother said, Emma. It's the truth."

He felt her stiffen against him and pull away, putting an immediate distance between them that pained him. The fear coursing through her was obvious in the set of her jaw and the way she rolled her shoulders back, shoving her hands into her back pockets. His Emma, he was hurting her by saying this, but he would also hurt her if he lied. She would know, and it would pain her.

"What do you mean, Killian?"

"You were born in the Enchanted Forest, Swan, the product of true love, the child of two heroes—a princess."

"That doesn't mean anything. You and I both know that."

"Or it could mean everything," he said, running his hand through his already wild hair, his voice growing quiet. "What if there is true love waiting for you, a man whose never killed because he could, nor lived solely for vengeance, Emma?"

"I believe that, Killian."

Her words were a frigid wave engulfing him, the doubts he was voicing suddenly feeling far more substantial as she returned his words to him.

"I believe I have a true love. The only difference, you idiot, is that I know I've already found him, so don't do this to me. After all of the chasing, just because I finally stopped running doesn't mean it's your turn."

Killian felt the tips of her fingers graze his face, relishing in the rough texture as she seemed to love to do. He reached out to her then, twirling a strand of her golden hair around his finger, his eyes taking in every curve and peak of her face as she smiled. He wanted to have her faith, to believe as she did that he could be her everything, because she was certainly his.

She stepped forward, her forehead resting gently against his, her hands taking both his good hand, and his hook, loving every piece of him. His heart ached with how much he loved this woman. A small smile turned the corners of her mouth upward as green eyes met blue.

"What do you say, Hook? Take a leap of faith."

And because she asked, and he trusted her implicitly, he did. His lips crashed against hers, finding her teeth and her tongue and the sweet taste of her. Her hands wound themselves in his dark tangle of hair, pulling, needing to be as close to him as she possibly could. Possessiveness and need calmed to tenderness and longing, their bodies moving and melding seamlessly as they poured their commitment into every shuddering breath. When they finally broke apart, he knew in his heart that her words were true, because he could never, ever leave this miraculous woman who had chosen to be his, he would die. He loved her too greatly, too deeply.

"Don't you know, Emma," he whispered against her neck, clinging to her as if she was the only thing keeping him afloat in an endless sea, and perhaps she was. "It will always be you."

 _A/N: This is my first Captain Swan fic, so all reviews and critiques are appreciated. Thanks, and enjoy! - Fara_


End file.
